Spell It Out, Darling
by PessimisticSorcerer
Summary: When a new morale magazine comes to the surface and a journalist arrives at Melchett's office, the strength of the hate between Darling and Blackadder is put to the test, Darling/Blackadder, Darling/OC.


There had been fighting in the trenches again.

It never seemed to be too bad, a cut lip and a bleeding nose here and there, but this time there had been guns drawn, knives to throats, and even a couple of gaping wounds. Captain Edmund Blackadder said that he would not tolerate it, and he had finally decided that he wouldn't. Not during an air raid, at any rate.

He lay back upon his bed, his arms folded angrily behind his head, his moustache quivering with rage. Never had such insolence been seen in the gutters, and he should know, half of the time it was him that caused it. It also meant that he had been forced to call Darling to sort the mess out. Captain Kevin Darling was not someone that Blackadder would gladly converse with anyway, but to call him for help was even more of a vile displeasure.

"Can't control your own men, eh Blackadder?" he had jeered, the sound of champagne corks being popped from bottles almost audible over the line.

No, that wasn't what had happened; it was just that one foolish man couldn't keep his gun in his trousers. And that wasn't all.

It wasn't the time for contemplation at any rate; it was the time for action. The soldier had been disposed of, and, even though morale was low, at least there wasn't any fighting. It was just as that thought passed through the mind of the captain when gun fire sounded from far away. Across the expanse of No Man's Land shots were being fired. The bunker opening fluttered open, and a familiar smell entered, followed by a short, dirty man.

"Baldrick?" Blackadder scorned the name, still lying upon his back, eyes closed.

"Yessir?"

"What is all that commotion outside?"

"Gunfire sir."

The captain snorted. "Yes, I know it's gunfire. What I meant was, is it in _our _trench, our outside?"

"Well," Baldrick began, a confusion flashing across his face. "It's _from _our trench, _to _out there."  
Blackadder had suffered enough. He swung his legs around and opened his eyes, glaring at the Private. "If you don't give me a coherent answer I'm going to tie you to that wall and do some target practice of my own. Now answer me again, is there fighting between our men?"

"No, sir," he replied, and immediately sunk into the nearest chair. "It's out there, us versus the Germans. That's who we're fighting, o'course."

"Yes, yes, I know we're fighting the German's, Baldrick."  
"But you said you wanted to know who we were fighting, Captain."  
Blackadder buried his face in his hands and screamed through them. It was always an uphill struggle talking to the private, but today it felt like he had ditched the hill and instead was trying to scale Mount Everest without any limbs.

"I wish I could write, sir," Baldrick said. "I'd love to write home to my mum to tell her about today."

The captain rolled his eyes. "What on Earth could you put? 'Dear mother, was almost shot at today, sorry, I'll try harder tomorrow, Baldrick'?"

It was at that moment that there came a stopping of feet, and a cheery laugh as George stumbled into the bunker, pulling his helmet from his head and grinning inanely.

"Well isn't it a fine morning, captain?"

"Depends what you mean by fine," Blackadder sighed. "If you mean 'I would quite happily go out into No Man's land, stick a flashing light upon my head and hold a sign saying 'Get It Here' then it is indeed a fine morning."

"Oh, gosh Captain Blackadder, cheer up, sir! Look what I have!"

George reached into his coat and pulled out a large colourful magazine. He thrust it into Blackadder's reluctantly outstretched hands.

"What is this, George?"

The front cover was a picture of a woman draped provocatively in a Union Jack, holding high a gun with the words 'Tally-ho boys, do it for the girls!' exploding from her mouth.

"It's the new morale magazine, sir!" the Lieutenant grinned. "It's brilliant! It's not only got stories and articles about what it's like for the average Tommie, it's also got--" he paused and began to snigger. "Naughty pictures."

Baldrick, who was picking at a strange shaped black lump on the table immediately turned and stared at George.

"What sort of 'naughty pictures'?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Women and what-not."

Blackadder rolled his eyes. Trust the men back in England to produce something like this. "And what, pray tell, is the title of this filth?"

"Oh," George smiled. "Tits for Brits."

Baldrick shot up from his seat and made for the magazine, his grubby fingers flexing for the picture of the semi-naked woman. Blackadder held it firmly from his reach.

"Get back Baldrick or you'll be seeing my new magazine, Blood, Bruises and Baldrick."

"Oh, that's not a very good name for a magazine, I don't think, captain. I think that it needs to raise the morale, which is exactly what this is doing! It's issued every month, and you get whopping previews of what's going to be coming next issue!"

With his long frame, George was easily able to grab the journal from the captain's hands and thumbed through it. Blackadder's eyes widened as the pages, black and white unlike the front cover, were filled with photographs of half-nude women holding signs that shouted morale boosting phrases. It was almost as bad as porn which, apparently, was the best thing to raise the troop's spirits. If this was their solution, Blackadder hated to think of what might have been the other suggestions.

"Here, look, sir," George was pointing at a large black box in the middle of the page. A rather attractive woman with dark flowing hair and a large smile was stood next to it, pointing to the text.

"Would you look at that! She's got clothes on! This must be the bit where they stick the articles for those with more than one brain cell."

"No, sir, not that!" George cried, obviously offended by the captain's blatant disrespect for the magazine. "Look, this part." He pointed with a grubby finger to the last line of the text. Blackadder grabbed the magazine and peered at the page closely.

"What's this?" he read. "'And we are looking forward to next issue where I, Celia Fox, will be travelling to the office of General Melchett and interviewing some of his best and brightest soldiers'."

The Lieutenant's face lit up and he snatched the paper back. "They're coming here, by jove! It's so exciting, isn't it? It says that they will be at the general's office between the seventh and the sixteenth, and the seventh is tomorrow!"

"So?" Blackadder shook his head.

"Does that mean that she will want to interview us then?" Baldrick asked, a strange expression forming upon his face. Blackadder groaned.

"Baldrick, the article said 'best and brightest'. You couldn't be the best and brightest even if every other soldier was killed today. An amoeba would be interviewed before you."

George snorted with delight. "I can't wait! I've always had a little fancy for that Miss Fox!"

Blackadder rolled his eyes; if she was one of the reporters from this magazine then she must be all for Tommies. Probably the only reason she would be there to interview them all was to get to know one of them a little better.

It was also likely that the recent fight in the trenches would come to light and being a journalist she would blow everything out of proportion; Melchett would be furious, and Darling would be sporting that smug look he always did when Blackadder did something wrong that made him look like a disgruntled chipmunk.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep from excitement tonight, sir," Baldrick said, returning to his chair. "I can't believe someone from a magazine would want to come here and interview us."

"Yes," Blackadder's brow came together in a frown.

"Something the matter, sir?" George asked. "I'm awfully excited! Hopefully the call will come through tomorrow to go to headquarters and tell his gal all about our experiences."

"George, you don't have any experiences. You'll do what you always do when you tell a story. You'll start, forget where you got to, skip out the middle and go straight to the end. If you told the story of Little Red Riding Hood to a child you'd scar them for life."

*******

Darling leant back from his work and heaved a heavy sigh of relief. It had been a long day and after shipping that heavy load of paper clips he was finally finished. He leant his head back feeling his eyes close; finally he could get some peace and quiet. Sorting out that raving mad Tommie for Blackadder had been extremely rewarding, just to see the look upon the other captain's face as he, Captain Darling, saved his career, but it had also been extremely tiring. General Melchett's office was silent, peaceful, and it was quite easy to fall asleep in, it had been a long day and so he didn't see how a little nap could hurt.

Darling had just made himself comfortable when:

"Baaah!"

He jolted upright and immediately picked his pencil up, scribbling a long dark line across the nearest file in terror. His eye twitched nervously.

There was silence.

"What on Earth--?" Darling began, swivelling around on his chair and facing the wall behind him. He slowly got to his feet and pressed his ear against it, straining to hear beyond. Through that wall was Melchett's office and from that insane laugh of his Darling knew that there must be someone else in there, either that or something had tickled his fancy.

At that moment the door beside the captain was thrust open and General Melchett strode in brandishing a large magazine, his dark velvet dressing gown flowing behind him. Darling immediately jumped away from the wall.

"What are you doing, Darling?" Melchett pondered, eyeing the captain suspiciously.

"Oh, erm," Darling laughed nervously. "I was just… checking for mould, sir."

"On the wall?"

"Yes, it gets everywhere, sir. I-I think it's rotted all the way through to the other side, I could have sworn I heard you laugh like you were standing next to me."

"No, Darling. I would never laugh when I was standing next to _you_."

Darling whimpered. "Thank you, sir."

"Mm, yes," the General pondered, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. "I was, in fact,

reading this magazine," he threw the issue of 'Tits for Brits' onto the table as his captain took a seat. "That Fox woman is coming here tomorrow; I thought I'd do a bit of light reading."

"Yes, sir."

"Have you read this, Darling?"

Darling twitched. He had, indeed, picked the magazine up a few times. It was meant to be

for the Tommies out fighting their war, but Darling didn't see any reason why _he _couldn't have a nose through it. He was sure that it had been Lieutenant George that had left a copy in there a few months ago for the general to read and it had just happened to slip into his fingers one afternoon. It certainly was a morale booster, and yet, it disgusted him slightly. If that was the way to boost the morale then what would be next? The soldiers would be wanting more nudity; lieutenants dressing as women, captains doing stripteases. Darling definitely wasn't going to stand for that. It was cold in the trenches and he wasn't to get his kit off for any Tommies, no matter how much they wanted it.

"Y-yes, sir, I have."

"Yes!" Melchett drawled. "Excellent piece of literature. Something good to get our boys up and over, don't you think?"  
"It will definitely get them _up_, sir," Darling pointed out.

"Mm," the general replied, obviously ignoring the captain's innuendo. "Oh, and before I forget, you'll be the one that will be looking after this Fox woman when she comes," he rose from his seat and leant forward over the desk so that his face was inches from Darling's. "You'd better do a good job of it, Darling. The welfare of the army is counting on this woman's outstanding report."

"Yes, sir," Darling gulped.

"If you even put a toe out of line the Fritz won't need to aim at you. I'll throw you into their trenches myself!" And with a sharp nod of his head, Melchett swiftly left the room, leaving Darling staring at the spot where the general had been standing, his eye twitching terribly, the pencil still in his fingers making small grey circles on the desk.


End file.
